Alas, it is not Friday. It's a Wednesday, farway from a free and full nights sleep but farther from a Monday's woes. The clock never seems to run on time. Too slow and full of static. My thoughts are running over them selves.

For some reason I miss my 17 year old self today. I miss the melancholy girl who thought she was fat, even though she ran 6 miles a day. I miss the girl who could not live without music. Music filled her imagination. Headphones protected her from the derisive sounds and insults of others. I almost wish I was back in Algebra failing, rather than here at work listening to complaints and demands. Every day I wear a headset for the wrong reason. I feel wrung out. I am too tired to be depressed. I can’t stop wondering who I could have been? Who should I have been? Maybe all I need is another pill and 90 minutes with an album that will help me feel something, feel anything other than this ennui.

It's a Yo Yo day. One minute I feel fine, the next I feel like I am wedged in a box that's too small. I need to focus. I want to find focus without pharmaceutical help. It seems it would be like trying to find a gold needle in a haystack. I write in clichés. I am trying to decide how to configure an English paper piecing project I have started. I have completed 137 two inch hexagons. I have approximately 300 to go, depending on the layout I select. I can’t choose between the full flower pattern, wave or straight line. I could applique to a background fabric, (What colour ?) But how much do I want to do by hand? All? Some? Heat N Bond? LoL

Promises Promises

It's a hollow Thursday. I've been watching the clock since 0545 and grateful for any minute that passes and pushes me forward to 1515. I have at least 6 quilting projects started and can't commit to finish them. I am beginning to read a book by Steven Pressfield entitled "The War of Art - Break through the Blocks and Win your inner Creative Battles." Pressman writes, "Creative work is a gift to the world and every being in it. Don't cheat us of your contribution. Give us what you've got." The statement is both wise and inspiring and intimidating. I have a vast array of fabrics, supplies and sewing machines and yet I find myself overthinking every choice. I tangle myself up in the variables and scold myself for not giving a deep and intellectual meaning to every stitch. It reminds me of a story Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes to paraphrase she told us that several of her cleints spent all their time acquiring the perfect supplies, the ones that "feel right" and then leave the task less. That bell has never stopped ringing on that for me. I have always searched for the perfect pen to write the perfect play, the extraordinary paper that would draw my ideas out of my hand. I have Italian embroidery scissors, English hand needles and more fat quarters of fabric than I care to count. Committing to yardage seems like taking the training wheels off the bike. :) I found my first quilt top a few days ago. It is about 49" by 60" and grey and black. I named it my PMS quilt. I had planned to sew a deep read border. I can laugh now and say it was my dark period. I do really like it now. The pattern of opposites is bold and from a distance it holds its own. It's very modern even if I so say so myself. Like the Almond farmers of California say “One can a week is all we ask” May be if I commit myself to 30 minutes a day, it will fuel to desire to live, love and create out loud.

A Clear day?

  It’s a clear day.  Most of the mental fogginess has drifted, could be the Vyvance or the tea.  I am grateful for both.  I doubt my grammar.  The Vyvance doesn’t treat that.     The last four months have been brave and productive.  I decided to try to get ahead of the low bipolar cycle with lots of meds and lots of therapy.  It’s working.  I decided to be more social and get out of the apartment more often.  That seems to be working as well.                   So it’s been a year and some days, since I’ve scribble away.  I have missed blogging, haven’t been doing it.  I don’t know why.   I have too many thoughts and get overwhelmed by the weight of them I guess.  But it’s time to move forward.  I adopted a dog, Milo.  I joined a quilt guild.  I want to return to creating and living and projects.  I finished a mug rug binding and all.  The process of designing and sewing and committing to the fabric was both frightening and thrilling. Thanks to Jean a member of Stray Threads who encouraged me to participate.   I have to laugh though; the woman who got my rug in the swap wasn’t impressed.  It doesn’t matter.  I was impressed.  I designed an object, decided on the materials and put it together.  I committed to the mug rug and then released it into the wild.  The butterfly cliché is shamefully acknowledged.  LoL.      Had a great weekend, sewed with the Stray Threads at the Woodinville firehouse.  I stitched some foundation blocks in bright primary batiks and then ruined them while trying to remove the paper.   My Mother’s advise – appliqué over it. J I went to the Quilter’s Anonymous quilt show.  There was a lot to take in, stories spoken and stitched, intricate, warm and generous.  How can you deny the honesty of a quilter who bares their soul in thread?  The quilt is a metaphor for safety and risk.    There weren’t any political quilts at this show, no quilts marking the conquering of cancer commemorating anniversaries or family memories.  There were several bold black and white quilts trimmed with acid green.  Bright semi neon quilts were visual stand outs.  Five members of the guild entered hand quilted quilts.  There were many giant, practical and gorgeous bed quilts on display soft from use.  I admired three vintage quilts made from old kits that were inherited or purchased.  I am still wondering about the women who started and finished them.      Donna Eines was one of the featured artists and her handwork and hand quilting are breathtaking.  I envy her dedication to design and tiny detail.  How wonderful to be so immersed in our technique.  It was remarkable to watch her calmly and confidently place and pull her needle.    I miss losing myself in the creative process that way.  I miss disappearing into a script and moving actors about the stage.  I need to find a way back to the passion of the creative process.  Regan a member of Stray Threads posted on FB on her love of the quilting process.  I am envious.  What stories could I tell with my quilts?  Do they have to tell a story or is the process of manifestation enough?

I finished my first quilt project of 2013 yesterday. Stray Threads quilt guild is having a block lottery this week. Last month they gave use three pieces of fabric and instructions for an 11 inch log cabin block. I fussed over my fabrics and then went to buy too much more. I cut the fabric fairly acurately and my seams were consistant. The big surprise came when all the pieces were pressed out the block is spot on 11 inches. Will wonders never cease?

Red sequins

I haven't been able to decide what I am. Crafter? Needle worker? Crocheter? Project starter? My friend Ann has a brilliant license plate, "DABBLER". I have no real idea how many projects I have started and that now live in zip lock bags. It’s a guilt pang. Why? My paternal Grandmother had various interests. My Mother finishes every project she starts. I can’t concentrate on one project for more than two weeks. I blame the ADD it makes easier. I even buy other people’s unfinished projects. I have come across some un finished embroideries recently. Beautiful designs that are almost finished. I wonder why they were left undone. Did the stitcher get bored? Did she have more pressing projects? Did she hate her stitches? Were her hands arthritic? I want to finish them, should I continue their work or pick out their threads and start over? What would I want someone to do with my unfinished work? I could ask these questions all day. I found an old project today, a calendar from 1981. I think it was a gift from my maternal Grandmother. It the kind that you sew beads and sequins on. When I opened it I remember thinking it would take forever to finish. I sewed the beads and sequins clumsily. I am sure that the slow pace frustrated me. I can look at it now, a little more than half done and visualize completing it. It’s a calendar from 1981. I was 12 years old when I started the calendar. It won’t be accurate again until 2015. Maybe that’s reason enough to buy more sequins. Maybe it’s the reason to finish what’s been started regardless of when it was started or by whom.